The Swank Hotel by Lucy Corin

Author:Lucy Corin [Corin, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Graywolf Press
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

So Em ran from Frank’s house past the koi and the shed to the back of the property—not far, but this was an older neighborhood, generous parcels, and you could build some speed. She had never made the transition from being young to exercising, and her heart hurt by the time she hit the rubbly brush where invasive species can have their way with a few yards of earth. A bartender who had one eye and an eyeball ring had once handed her a drink, a festive Manhattan, his red socket sealed, and made a joke he’d made a thousand times to relieve customers who were anxious about his face. It may be worth mentioning that Em had always had two eyes. Eyes are small, contained in their places in faces, but they reach endlessly in their physics and their symbolic history. In the near future in relation to this moment in this rubble beyond this house, Adeline’s eyes did come back, good as ever; they stabilized on their own about a month after her release. The rest of her brain remained mysterious in its abilities. She spoke, now and then, from her bed in the unfinished room in her parents’ house, from a great sleepy distance, in words, phrases, and some sentences. Once Ad could see again, Em was able to wonder why she’d been so fixed on that one vitiation. The part of her that considered herself a coward knew it was to protect herself from the idea of a brain in the flux of damage. So a person is blind, so you have to learn some things. So your language and culture are over-invested in the visual—shift your perspective—

So by the time she abruptly turned around in the brush like a windup toy and headed back across the lawn she was telling herself this, in these exact words: You are going to march right in there, young lady. She passed the shed, the pond, and then she heard a lot of yelling coming from the house. The door was closed again so she went without guile to the window next to it and peered inside. Josie was standing on the table, with her back to Em, wagging a chef’s knife in one and then the other hand like a lounge singer. The cadence of her speech ramped up, turned erratic. Her body lashed. Her boots were beautiful—soft gleaming leather with a graceful heel, and they did not seem to have gotten dirty from any of the day’s events—and then she slipped. She lost her balance because of the wildness of a thrust or her speech or the facts of the furnishings and their arrangement in relation to her body. Both men reached for her. Em tore herself from the window and hurled open the door. She had seen the knife flashing like a ring. Josie hit a chair on the way down, which skittered for several feet and then stopped. She lay on the floor with the knife pointing to where it had cut her neck.

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